Kevan
Grand Maester Pycelles chain rankled with every slight motion. He fidgets to disarm me. An assortment of treats, including glasses of cool milk, had been provided for him. The man had sworn oaths to the Iron Throne as Grand Maester, but it was Tywin whom he bowed down to. On the day of the sack it was his words that had seen King Aerys open the gates and House Lannister had risen high on the bones of the dragons. Tywin had repaid the years of slights with days of violence that scarred the city.
Everyone knows what happens when you pull a lions tail.
The Sack of Kings Landing secured the support of King Robert, whom rewarded them handsomely for their service in ridding him of potential claimants. If his niece had done her duty, King Robert would look at them fondly and their position secured by the new king. Without the Crown, our position outside the Westerlands is vulnerable. Naked ambition and displays of power have costs. Kevan knew should they lose control of the capital, the Great Houses would unite to lay them low. Already, the Tyrells using Lord Renly were making some inquiries about Jon Arryn's household. Whispers from his agents confirmed these movements.
Save our gold, our eyes and ears remain our greatest asset. Only the Eunuch rivaled them.
Kevan thought it strange that they were making inquiries about the late Lord Arryns household. Did they suspect something about him? A treason he had committed to discredit the son and earn favor with the king? An unlikely plot. Lord Jon Arryn was a man of honor and, regardless of any evidence, His Grace would believe no slander about him. He loved the man like a father. Maybe the Tyrells were just turning over every rock, looking for a golden arrow to slay them, since the plot to usurp their position had been parried away for the moment.
"To what do I owe this unexpected honor, Ser Kevan." Grand Maester asked, coughing lightly. "Forgive an old man his dry throat."
"Does the mummery get tiring?"
The sputtering, aimless fool stammered under his gaze. "My lord? Mummery I don't understand. I'm an old man with some ailments the price of age."
Kevan drank one gulp of his milk before wiping his chin with a napkin. The Grand Maester was as still as a doe when he raised a single blond brow and gave a knowing look.
A raspy chuckle as the old fool straightened in his skin. "My apologies my lord, I often forget how similar you and your brother are." Grand Maester Pycelle said tugging on his wintery beard. "Forgive me for the deception. What can I do for you, ser?"
"The Roses scour the streets searching for the remains of Lord Arryns household. Should I be worried? You served with the man on the Small Council and treated him in his last hours."
The Grand Maester rubbed his temples and his ancient shoulders slouched.
"So I should be worried." Kevan said, shifting in his velvet seat.
"I suspected he was poisoned, my lord. Maester Colemon was saving his life with his treatment, but I thought it was the will of House Lannister that he did not survive. Only Her Grace ever truly quarreled with Lord Arryn." He shrugged his shoulders. "So I let him perish and I would do so again for Lord Tywin."
Kevan scoffed. "You think my niece poisoned the Late Lord Hand?" Why would she kill him? Lord Arryn was the best thing for House Lannister. His conciliatory nature allowed them to dominate the royal court. His stewardship curtailed some of the worst of King Roberts excess's and his age hindered his vitality. A younger man like Lord Stark was more vigorous. Who else would murder him? A man of honor well liked by his vassals in the Vale. An enigma wrapped in a riddle. If she murdered Jon Arryn and it was discovered, King Roberts wrath would be great. The boy lord Jasper Arryn held ties to the North and Riverlands through the Tully bloodline. It would unite half of the Seven Kingdoms against them in a blood feud. Banners would be summoned and House Lannister would standalone. He was deep in thought as he thought of the potential consequences, none of them good.
"Why?"
"I know not. She never invited me to her counsels. Nor Lord Arryn truly, but I know Lord Arryn was obsessed with this tome by Grand Maester Malleon. Do you wish to see it? It might hold some answers you seek." Grand Maester Pycelle said.
The tome was massive, as big as a watermelon. It would have taken Jon Arryn many nights by the candle to read through it. Kevan traced his fingers over the ink. The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children. Secrets lived in this tome and he had to see it lay to rest. He gave the pages to the flames, whom devoured whatever Lord Arryn had labored for. Kevan watched as parchment turned to ash with the sound of the Grand Maesters chains clanging beside him.
"It's likely Lord Renly shall ask about a book." Kevan whispered. "You'll lie and give them another. This matter is at a rest."
Grand Maester Pycelle bowed his balding head.
, At the dinner table he thought of the parchment being eaten by flames as Lancel drank from his goblet of wine. The bruises on his cheeks had faded away. A flash of guilt crossed him for laying a hand against his son. It was for his own good. Kevan took a bite of the duck, trying to forget the conspiracies that hung over his head and the guilt in his heart. They had silenced whatever secret with Lord Arryns death and with him in the capital, he would keep the ambition of House Tyrell at bay. Tywins daughter would remain queen as he had been ordered. Lannister blood would remain on the Iron Throne. His lips twirled in a frown, thinking about her. Her servants had reported to him her disappointing movements. She went to see Pycelle and tried to secure poison. Tried to bribe Vylarr to lie about her travels. Both promptly informed him of the conversations. Cersei still acted against him despite the threat to her boy. She remained arrogant and prideful.
If she were anyone other than Tywins daughter, I would have seen her killed.
Instead, a different lesson had been employed. A hard lesson that would shatter her spirit and resolve. It seemed his niece required a harsh lesson, and he would have to afflict it. I'm sorry Dorna, I have to do my duty to my brother no matter how unpleasant.
A warm breeze entered the chambers as he adjusted his collar. The day was hot and bothersome even as the sun had set. "Not appearing in the tourney, son?" He asked.
Lancel shook his head. "It's not for squires, save by exemption of His Grace."
"Ah," Kevan said, nodding. "Has anyone achieved such favor?"
"Lord Starks bastard."
Kevan lowered his goblet of wine. Now that was curious news. One could be tempted to lower Lord Starks standing in court by feeding the resentment of lords whose highborn sons are being ignored by the king. But what did that gain them? Throw Lord Stark away and who would King Robert name as Hand? One of his brothers, or Mace Tyrell. He would never name Tywin to the post. Lord Starks position needed to be maintained better a man of honor blinded by justice and good stewardship than men of ambition or creatures of court.
For now.
"You'll compete one day my son."
"And they shall hear me roar!" His son vowed.
The servants cleared away the plates, and he retired to his chambers dreaming of his wife's embrace. A small chuckle escaped his lips as the blankets swallowed him, with the warm breeze kissing his cheeks. It was comfortable and his beloved niece was spending this night undermining him and House Lannister. Does she not care for her spawn?
Was she going to poison him? Or another. Kevan wondered. Nothing was more wretched than a kinslayer. Not that it mattered she did it without his leave and acted against him. Duty demanded he informed his liege of this treachery, but he couldn't do that to Tywin. I won't hurt him nor House Lannister. And if the raven fell into other hands, it would embarrass House Lannister and encourage its enemies to attack amid a divided pride.
I'll handle it quietly
After a few days, his niece arrived, ruining what had been a wonderful day with his son. I summoned her in Cersei, stormed in, eyes burning. Her blond hair had lost some of its shine and the makeup couldn't hide the sags underneath her eyes. Paranoia didn't suit her. Parchment clutched between her fingers, turning them white as snow. Kevan turned his back from her, staring out the window at the courtyard below unbothered.
"Uncle," she said, not even hiding her contempt. "You can't summon me. I'm a queen and not some dog."
Kevan turned. "I did not summon you. I merely reminded you of your father's promise." A promise of blood and destruction. I shall swing the sword for the good of House Lannister.
"While you threaten me needlessly-"
"Needless?" Kevan scoffed. "You tried to attain poison. Going to use it against me mayhaps?"
"Is that what this is about." His niece's voice raised a pitch. "I would not use it against you, but you can't expect me to sit idle while that harlot from Highgarden bats her little eyelashes at my husband threatening my children and my worries are not baseless. That whore poisoned me." Cersei reminded. "I told you of that two days past, but yet you did nothing."
Kevan said nothing in reply and poured them both glasses of wine.
"I apologize niece, you look unwell. I believe you retaliation is needed. The Rose of Highgarden shall wilt as well."
Cersei smiled.
He raised his glass and brought it to his lips. The sweet red liquid went down her throat.
"Now uncle-"
Cersei clutched her throat, gasping for air that would not come. Blood flowed from where she scratched her throat. He watched as her fair skin turned purple and then blue. She knocked the goblet of wine to the floor, its red contents stained the carpet like a pool of blood while he whistled a tune she knew very well.
And who are you, the proud lord said,
that I must bow so low?
Only a cat of a different coat,
that's all the truth I know.
In a coat of gold or a coat of red,
a lion still has claws,
And mine are long and sharp, my lord,
as long and sharp as yours.
And so he spoke, and so he spoke,
that lord of Castamere,
But now the rains weep o'er his hall,
with no one there to hear.
Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall,
and not a soul to hear.
A single finger pointed at him. "You wouldn't dare kill me." She spat before collapsing on the ground, gazing with hatred and a hint of fear growing with every moment.
"They call me Tywins shadow." He told her. "Men are afraid of my brother, and for good reason, his claws are long and sharp. A true Lannister who restored our name to greatness." Memories of mockery and japes at his family's expense swirled in his mind. "I stood by his side, for that is where I needed to be. Don't mistake dutiful service for weakness. I'm still a Lannister and you owe me a debt that you shall pay."
"I don't know what you mean." She screeched out.
"You fucked my son." His voice was without emotion. "I sent him to you and instead of helping him, you manipulated him. You would have made him a catspaw and when it suited you, he would have been disposed of like gutter filth. My eldest boy, my flesh and blood."
Cersei slumped against the crimson rug unmoving save her chest, moving gently up and down.
"Maybe you think they'll blame me, but I've spun quite the tale. I shall blame the ambitious stewards from Highgarden and Stark will believe me." He smiled and lifted the bottle up. "I received this from Lord Mace's personal stores in front of many witnesses." Her lips turned blue as fear took hold of her. "The Realm will rally behind Tywin, whom shall ravage the Reach and tear the roses from their garden root and stem. Poor King Robert will fall by a choice arrow making Tommen king. Tywins legacy secured, so I don't need you." Tears were coming down her cheeks as she understood that reality.
Kevan knew she was thinking about never seeing her children again, seeing her daughter married in the Great Sept of Baelor or her sons becoming men grown with children of their own. A lifetime of memories he would rob from her. Guilt swirled in his chest that this had been a necessary display of power to crush her resolve. This plot he fastened would work, but he couldn't kill Tywins daughter. Duty demanded he serve Tywin and his line. I won't kill her.
It wasn't his place to cast judgement on her.
But she didn't need to know that.
"It doesn't have to be this way, niece." He cast the line and her eyes lit up with hope as she bought it hook and sinker. "Tell me some truths. Convince me you remain loyal to House Lannister and I shall give you the cure for this poison. Nod your head for yes. That should suffice. Nod if you understand." He ordered.
Cersei's head bobbled up and down.
"Did you plot to kill King Robert?"
She nodded.
"Did you kill Jon Arryn?"
She shook her head, and he could detect no deceit in her desperate eyes. Interesting. Kevan mused. Who else could it have been? Pycelle was certain she poisoned him and the Late Lord Hand had few enemies in court. King Robert argued often with him, but everyone agreed he loved the man. The Dornish held no influence in court and the Reachmen little quarrel with Lord Arryn. His marriage was a cold one and Lady Lysa, according to his informants, lived in her childhood home of Riverrun, apparently overcome with grief. Mayhaps it was guilt? Could the Gods be so good and give him the perfect wedge to shatter Stark-Tully-Arryn alliance? He would have to investigate that further, and he almost smiled.
"Finally, were you going to poison me?" He asked.
A brief flash of hesitance and she nodded her head. A kinslayer. Kevans jaw tightened. Maybe he should leave her to die? She could never harm him and her death would serve House Lannister. Duty would have been met. Then Kevan thought of sweet Princess Myrcella growing up without her mother. The sweet girl didn't deserve that, nor Cersei's boys either. But she could take him from Dorna and his children. Could he be so selfish and risk it? For the first time in many years, he hesitated.
Kevan made a choice.
Margaery
"You sputtering idiot, that is not the cheese I ordered." Oleena Tyrells voice cracked like a whip.
The tall servant named idiot bowed his head apologetically. "They are out milady-"
"Find some more, then."
"Yes, milady." The servant answered and his pace quickened out the door, almost knocking his head against the stone frame.
She gave a chiding look. "Oh, grandmother, you shouldn't torture the boy. You need to be mindful of our image. We aren't Lannisters." Thank the Seven. Unlike them, they understood the concept of friendships and forming good ties. Friendship and cooperation shields better than fear and violence. Did Lord Tywin not know that his brutality would alienate the honorable lords of the Vale? The mere name Lannister made Lord Stark stiffen with cold judgement. Or make others fearful of retribution like gallant Lord Renly. When men grow frightened, they seek alliances to protect them. Lords were little different. Father understood generosity and a softer approach. He included his lords in counsel. Invited their children to Highgarden. Secured advantageous matches across the Reach. From the Arbor to Asheford, Tyrell blood was carefully cultivated to maintain peace and prosperity.
It's our garden and we know it best!
Oleena snorted. "Don't you know dear old women are always crotchety."
Margaery giggled.
"Besides." She reminded, inter-tangling their hands. "I wanted to have more time to hear about your day without eyes or ears watching."
"Not much else to say, grandmother." Margaery said. "None of the Stark girls impressed me. Lady Arya was as wild as a wolf without a courtly bone in her body and Lady Sansa is a sweet girl, albeit guarded, but Loras broke that down easily enough. A pretty knight showing some chivalry and her walls shatter. She isn't much of a threat."
"And Princess Myrcella?"
Margaery smiled at the memory of the hawking expedition. "Oh, I love her grandmother! In another life, I think we would have made just marvelous friends!" She gave an exaggerated sigh as grandmother's sharp eyes watched her. "She's intelligent, but far too kind. It's a weakness that can be exploited." She adjusted on her velvet cushion gently chewing on a grape. "Her relationship with Lord Jasper Arryn could be worrisome if he is anything like the rumors claim. The princess would have him in the palm of her hand." She paused, waiting for a comment or barb, but grandmothers lips tightened in a thin line.
"Explain." Grandmother gestured her hand to continue.
"Grandmother?"
"I need to make sure you are ready, dear. Keep going with your reasoning."
Margaery took the challenge in stride and straightened her posture, speaking with poise and confidence. "They describe Lord Arryn as a knight of great courtesy. It'll be child's play to make him defend a beautiful blond princess. It's a union that can't come to pass with the swords of the Vale would come to the swords of the North and the Riverlands. Princess Myrcella cannot have such a powerful defender."
"Well, dear King Robert loves that boy Lord Arryn. They spent much time on the Kingsroad together. He's going to unite his house with his foster fathers line." Grandmother said sharply. "He won't be swayed no matter what that oaf Renly thinks."
"Quite true." She admitted before smirking. "Lord Arryn will be the one breaking it off."
Her grandmother raised a slender grey brow.
"What would make a man of honor break off a betrothal with the Crown?" Margaery poised her question.
It didn't take her long to understand. Grandmother chuckled lightly. "Ah, yes, take away her maidenhead and her value plummets, doesn't it? But who, and how?"
Margaery had thought about that as she giggled with her ladies-in-waiting, talking about the upcoming Tourney of the Hand. The princess was too keen to be fooled by lies and deception. A handsome face and sweet words may work on a lady like Sansa Stark, but the princess would see through it. It has to be genuine and Myrcella needs to be weakfor her to surrender to desire and forgo calculated.
The price of becoming queen is stepping on others. Even kind girls like Princess Myrcella. It was a sad thing, but it had to be done. Since she was a girl, it was all she ever wanted to be, not just the queen, but The Queen. Lannisters. Arryns. Starks. They were just obstacles to that path and, like any talented gardeners, they would remove the weeds and let the flowers of ambition grow.
"Unfortunately, it has to be real and that'll take time, but her betrothed is far away in the Eyrie. It'll be easier to prey on her because of it."
Grandmother took a quick nibble of a biscuit. "The boy isn't coming? Good, the stacking of court in their favor was certainly his notion."
Margaery raised a brow in puzzlement while grandmother explained her day watching the Lord Hand. "A northern dolt," she said. "Obsessed with honor and justice, he doesn't understand how to move through court. He wouldn't have had the notion to stack court in his favor. It's elegant, the division of courtly spoils. Northman occupies security positions while the more courtly men of the Vale and Riverlands have taken up posts in King Roberts court. Eddard Stark would have done as Jon Arryn did and maintained his foolish policy of conciliation."
"Really?" Margaery said, playing with a strand of hair. "Do you think the son is unlike the father?"
"Open your eyes, dear." She lectured. "Lord Jon Arryn made no moves for his house, nor any moves to secure his position. In the few months the boy has been Lord of the Eyrie, he has secured the fostering of a prince and a son of a Hand. A royal betrothal. Positions for his most important vassals in the capital." Grandmother chuckled, utterly amused. "He's a Tully pretending to be an Arryn. Gods be good, he's Hoster Tully, not Jon Arryn."
Margaery nodded along. "Did Lord Renly find what you wished."
"Lord Renly couldn't find his breaches without help. A dog could fetch better than him." Grandmother snorted with little pity or tact. "Did you know he actually came in here chest puffed up thinking he secured Lord Arryns book? The leather cover was green. Green dear! Our sources said it was red, but he brought back a green tome." She sighed. "At least we know that Lord Arryn was likely killed. Books aren't so easily misplaced. Another road shall lead to whatever secret that mysterious tome held. We just need patience."
She huffed lightly in protest. I think little of him, but Loras adored him. He made her brother happy, and she loved Loras. "Loras-"
"Is a boy of 16 who fancies himself in love." Grandmother said in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Grandmother!" she chided, standing up.
Her grandmother raised her hands up in mock surrender. "Peace, dear, I'm on your side and your brothers as well." She placed her wrinkled hands on top of her own. "But you know as well as I that House Tyrell comes first. We grow strong together." It was true all of them had their role to play. Willas the diligent heir. Garlan, his gallant protector. Loras a symbol of Tyrell prestige and splendor. I shall be the Queen. Even if it was with the fat drunkard like King Robert. She didn't need love in her life, just the title of queen.
After that, grandmother rose from her cushion and retired for the evening, grumbling about the poor help and subpar cheese.
The rest of the day passed quickly. She spent it sewing with her ladies-in-waiting. All of them were absolute delights, and she loved their company. Elinor was a beautiful singer and as shy as a maiden. Her cheeks reddened at the slightest praise or attention. Unlike Alla, who was bold with a sharp tongue. Once she even brought a squire to tears. To their amusement and mortification. She remembered. Megga loved to gossip. The more scandalous the better. Mira was the quietest of the bunch, but loyal and capable.
When she was queen, all of them would get lovely matches. Margaery walked onto the courtyard where the golden rose flew proudly in the wind. Loras was dressed in beautiful shiny plate and dueled to the excitement of the gathered ladies desperate to see the Knight of Flowers in action. She let out a cheer when he sent his opponent to the dirt, clapping louder than any of them as she thought about marriages. Elinor would marry Lord Renly soft-spoken and understanding she would bear his sons and daughters while Renly found his comfort in her brother. Tyrell blood would grow in Storms End! Alla, despite her bold tongue, was very sensitive and a secret romantic. A marriage with Lord Renly would turn bitter and quarrelsome. The other two were too low standing to be even considered.
Loras took out a red rose and the crowd of noble girls swooned over it, each hoping to receive his favor. She stifled a laugh when he marched past them all. "My sweet sister," He said, kissing her cheek. "A sign of my favor." A lazy smile formed on her brother's face. "Will you be rooting for me in the tourney?"
She giggled. "Always Loras. I always root for you."
Both on and off the field. You'll be happy, Loras, I promise.
Jon
Jon side stepped the lumbering blow from Robert Brax with ease. Built like a boulder, Robert lacked grace a well aimed savage strike to his leg sent him tumbling to the ground, hard carried by his own weight. Steel at his throat. "Yield?" He asked.
Robert reddened eyes bulging in disgust at his loss. I've yet to understand that feeling. Unlike any of the other squires for the Kingsguard, he had yet to lose to any of them. Boys mainly from the Westerlands or the Stormlands. Southron politics, not ability or talent. Jon knew.
It was as clear as day.
Ser Preston called out through clenched teeth. " Squire Snow has won." Robert Brax was the best of his squires, which said little of him.
He twisted away and gazed around the courtyard, gripping the hilt of his sword. Do any of you want to try your hand? He had won few friends with any of them. None. They all hated the fact a northern bastard was better than every one of them. They despised the fact that King Robert showered him with favor. I'll be competing in the tourney and melee because of it. On the field, he could make something of himself. Bring honor to House Stark and earn renown and glory.
There is great honor in serving as a Kingsguard.
No man alive was as skilled as Ser Barristan. He put all the legends to shame. Once he had bested him in three moves. Three moves! It was the greatest honor to attend to him. Polish his armor and sword.
Jon scanned the courtyard and saw no challengers. He held up his head high. He walked to the armory with the pride of being the best. I shall earn that white cloak. He vowed.
He returned his training sword and his armor to the shelf. He twisted around and saw Robert approaching him, with Herald Kenning behind him. Herald was even worse than Robert. "Bastard." He seethed. Then to the right of the hall coated in red freckles James Lynden and zealous Damion Lannister of Lannisport with golden hair. They surrounded him, cutting him off.
"You have embarrassed us for the last time, bastard." Herald declared.
Damion lips were smug. "You won't be attending the melee or joust when we are done with you."
Jon said nothing in reply and swung first at the weakest link in pampered Damion who stumbled straight into James. His nose broken and streaming crimson red. Jon almost made a break for it, but Roberts grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the shelves of helms. His vision darkened and Jon struggled fiercely, but the bulky arms held him down with an iron grip. "Let me go, you cravens!" Jon raged, bending Roberts hand back, and he yelped when the wrist snapped. He actually lunged free.
Pain erupted from his temple, and he stumbled to the ground. "Fucking bastard!" Herald said. Blows rained down from above. Boots and fists, and all Jon could do was to protect his neck and head.
"He broke my wrist!" Robert moaned. "Lets break both of his." Blood streaming down his face as they lifted him up. Jons vision was blurry, but all of them paled and backed away from him. A white shadow was on the prowl growling, showing teeth with a fierce snarl. The smell of piss filled the air, and Jon laughed as he came to his feet.
"Thank you Ghost. Good boy."
They were tripping into each other. Stumbling backwards. "Call off your beast Snow." Damions smug look had crumpled. A growing puddle in his breaches.
"Get that one. Don't hurt him much." He pointed at Robert.
Ghost lunged and pounced, taking the Brax boy to the cold floor staring into Ghosts eyes, as he growled. The other three bolted for the door. Robert was still as a ghost, eyes wide with fear. No words escaped his throat as he bent over him. "Attack me again Robert, and Ghost here will take out your throat." He lied. Jon knew he couldn't just go around killing lordlings, it would cause father much grief.
But Robert didn't need to know that.
"Come Ghost." Jon whistled.
At the dinner table, he was stiff and sore. Those cravens had cracked a rib. It hurt to breathe. They hold no honor to them. It wasn't his fault that he was better than all of them. Fuck them. None of that mattered while his siblings surrounded him. Sansa had recovered from the Trident and had made fast friends with Princess Myrcella. Meanwhile, Arya was enjoying her 'dancing' lessons with the Bravosi. Jon enjoyed giving her some tips with her needle. His sisters made the capital enjoyable, and it was easier to forget the pathetic jealous squires. Almost. Jon remembered as he bit into his steak. Arya lunged at him in a fierce hug when he walked through the door. He winced in pain. "Wait, someone actual got you?" Her eyes went wide in shock.
"A lucky blow, little sister." He ruffled her hair. "Happens to everyone."
Sansa didn't look convinced by his lie, to his growing chagrin. Southron court was making her more observant. Just let it rest. Jon hoped she would. There was no reason to make this matter any worse than it was. No need to bother father with his problems. I'll solve them on my own. It was just the three of them dining affairs of the Kings Court had required fathers attention. Since lords had arrived for the tourney, father had been more scarce trying to put out fires the king should.
King Robert was a shit king Jon thought for doing that to father. If he wasn't the king, he would have little to do with him, but favor of a king for a bastard meant everything. A small unworthy part dared to even hope that maybe it would reward him the name Stark. If he won the tourney or the melee, maybe King Robert would legitimize him. A life beyond the stain of dishonor.
You shouldn't want that…
"How was your day Jon?" Sansa asked kindly. "I trust training for the tourney is going well."
"Jon will beat them all. Especially that Knight of Flowers." Arya stuck her tongue out and gagged.
Sansa cringed. "Ser Loras is a knight of great chivalry. He doesn't deserve such scorn."
"So was Joffrey, or have you forgotten already?"
"Arya." Jon lowered his voice in disapproval as their sister tensed, hand shaking lightly.
Arya gave a contrite look and mumbled an apology.
"It's alright Jon." Sansa whispered. "I'm watching him closely this time. I know the lesson I learned. I won't be taken for a fool again." Her voice trailed and Jons heart broke. Prince Joffrey best never cross his sister's path again, or it would be the end of his tale.
"But you didn't say Jon how your day went?" Sansa reminded not to let him escape so easily.
"Well." Jon grinned. "I polished armor. Beat some fellow squires to a bloody pulp. An average day, really."
"No visit to a maester?" Her voice became harsher. A hint of the north inside of her as her nose wriggled in annoyance.
"Why would I do that?"
Sansa eyes narrowed. "Your wincing!" She raised her voice high and girlish. "Your hurt and since you are too prideful to go by yourself. I'm telling you to go or I shall tell father." She threatened him with some bite.
"Sister-"
"Jon you will do so end of discussion."
He nodded in agreement. I'll just tell some lie that it was a training accident. They finished the meal with light family banter. It was better eating with his siblings without Lady Starks icy glare. If only Robb could be with them and Bran as well. He would have already tried climbing the Red Keep. Eventually, Arya was yawning, and he picked up her squirming body and carried her to bed.
The next day, Jon was busy in the courtyard slaying the knight of straw opposing him. He struck with every ounce of strength in his limbs until guts of straw spilled out. He thought of their smug faces. None of them had dared to even look at him this morning. Again and again he struck until he sent the head flying. His chest rose violently up and down.
"I think he's dead squire." Ser Barristan's voice woke him up from his righteous anger.
Jon dipped his head. "Ser Barristan." He said. "I didn't hear your approach. Do you need your armor polished?"
Ser Barristan shook his head as he carried himself solemnly like father did to an execution, hands crossed behind him. My execution? He stiffened under his gaze. "What is the matter, ser?"
"I've spoken with my sworn brothers." He sighed. "There have been many complaints by their squires directed towards yourself. Lord Robert Brax claimed you threatened him with that wolf of yours."
"And what do you think, ser?" Jon asked, his throat tightening.
Ser Barristan placed his hand on his shoulder. "I wish to hear your story from your own lips before I cast judgement. Speak honestly with me Jon I shall listen."
Jon told him everything of what had trespassed over the weeks he had worked with his fellow squires. The growing escalation of attacks from mere insults to the attack in the armory. Ser Barristan gave nothing away and for a long moment he merely stared at him. Jon swallowed. I'm going to be sent away. They'll mock me and fathers name will be soiled. He would have to return to Winterfell and from their to the Wall. Lady Stark would not suffer him. It was unfair, but that was life for a bastard. He had merely deluded himself that he was otherwise. His shoulders slouched. "Are you releasing me?" Jon said without defiance, his hands handing from side to side.
"Nay Jon." Ser Barristan said. "I don't think you've done anything wrong." His blue eyes twinkled as he gently squeezed his shoulder. "I will not sacrifice one of the great future knights of the realm for politics and wounded prides."
Tears almost came out, but he refused to cry before him. I haven't failed. I can still find honor here.
"But it's best you don't use these facilities." Ser Barristans voice was consoling.
His head snapped quickly. "I've done nothing wrong."
"No, you haven't." He admitted. "It's unjust, but I have to listen to my sworn brothers. Our brotherhood must remain strong to protect His Grace. Understand, Jon, this isn't about you. I'm not abandoning you, I swear." He vowed. "I shall make you a knight, I promise you."
Jon grimaced, and the humiliation burned, and tears almost came. "I understand." He lied as the bitterness nearly overwhelmed him. A moment passed, and he turned to leave.
"I have not dismissed you, squire." Ser Barristan declared with a sad smile.
"But-"
"You are here, are you not? Let's see if you can last longer against me."
The morning ended in a storm of steel that had him bruised and sore, but smiling. I'm making something of myself. I'll be more than Lord Starks bastard.
The Tourney of the Hand couldn't come soon enough.
Authors note: Next up Cerseis faith is revealed.(I actually don't know it. I haven't decided either way. Kevan threw a curveball for me) Good old Jasper Arryn finally returns back on the page. As always I enjoy the reviews! One of the reviews made me wonder who the most popular POV is I might have to do a strawpoll next chapter if I have to guess I'd say Myrcella is the most popular. Also the Pycelle scene with Kevan is inspired by one of the best deleted scenes from Game of Thrones between Tywin and Pycelle. I also want to say thank you for the hundred favs bench mark. I'm flattered people like it that much.
Enchanted Evening: High praise! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint Jon always gives me a lot of trouble.
Guest: Well, I wouldn't count good old Kevan out just yet! As of this moment he certainly has the upperhand.
Guest 2: Thanks! I try my best!
Leo's reading: Yep, Myrcella is one of my favs to write and good old Jasper will be coming back next chapter.
Natman17: Yeah, I wrote Jasper to be a bit irksome and hatable. I think it's more intresting watching a flawed character grow. I'm glad you enjoy the other charachters though. I also try to change things why make an OC if he/she does nothing? Have some fun with it!
LadyKatherineFeyQueen: Well, the thing I think you are underestimiating is how much Cersei power is depedent upon Tywin. All of her puppets that do her bidding are all Westerman pretty much. Big scary Rains of Castamere Tywin has given them an order to listen to Kevan and they are going to comply. Now if Jamie was here he would certainly help her and Kevan would be in a worse position, but sadly Jamie is dealing with Joffrey poor guy. You are right though that she was totally playing him! But in Cersei fashion she was hardly subtle and Kevan retaliated whether it proves fatal I've yet to decide.
Freedmoon: I always appreciate your reviews write them when you can as frequently or infrequently as you wish. I'm flattered by your praise(I enjoy it a little. I am as you say human) Hopefully, you enjoy the chapter as much as the others! You also have a very strong understanding of lore from what I've gathered from your reviews.
Uzukami: Thanks! I try!
Amok: Ask and you shall receive!